Bonding Time
by JessicaLouisePotter
Summary: I didn't really know what to call this but... Harry wakes up from a nightmare and finds George in the kitchen for the first time since Fred died. Be kind please this is the first story I've publisjed on here! ONESHOT


**DISCLAIMER: *ducks behind table* I do not own Harry Potter or anything to do with Harry Potter (Sadly) so yeah, please don't attack me. *cautiously steps out from behind table* is it safe? Yes? Oh good. This is the first time I've posted something on this site so please be nice! *cowers behind table again* If I could have a cookie for the amount of times I tried to make this website work but my internet was being a bitch I'd be pretty damn fat, let me tell you . Anywayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy….**

 **-ON WITH THE ONESHOT-**

 **Bonding Time (A/N Yeah I really couldn't think of a better name)**

Harry shot up; panicked; shaken. The nightmares just kept getting worse, however he did not want to pay Madame Pomfrey a visit; he couldn't handle the embarrassment of asking for dreamless sleep like some pathetic first year. Besides, she had bigger things to worry about than him. Unwanted memories of the many injured; fatally or otherwise, popped up in the forefront of Harry's mind, taking over his brain and causing involuntary shaking to wrack his body. He knew he should see someone about this as it was becoming more and more of a problem as the nights bled by. There was only so much sleep Harry could miss.

Slowly, Harry slid out of his camp bed. The Weasleys would surely wake if the rickety pipes of the Burrow where brought to life at such an early hour. So a shower was out then. But he felt so dirty, he needed to clean it off, scrub his skin free of the dangerous tint that Lord Voldemort had left on him.

Looking around, Harry noticed that even in the twilight, Ron's room still managed to emit a faint orange glow. Harry had no idea how he had managed to sleep with the light after so many pitch black nights in his cupboard at the Dursley's. Thinking of the Dursleys made another shudder crawl down his spine. Harry could clearly feel the scars on his back that Uncle Vernon's belt had made, never to fade; a constant reminder of the abuse and neglect faced at the hands of his mother's sister and her husband.

But Harry didn't want to think about that right now.

Silently, Harry made his way downstairs, jumping on the last step because it squeaked. Moving inti the kitchen Harry jumped about a foot into the air. George was sitting at the kitchen table nursing a mug of something that certainly wasn't tea. Harry nervously sat down at the opposite side of the table. George hadn't left his room since Fred had died at the Battle. Harry honestly had no idea what to say to him. For all his experience dealing with the loss of people close to him, he couldn't for the life of him think of what to say to the person who had lost his twin and hadn't spoken to anyone for five days.

George looked up. Harry stared at a patch on the table, fiddling with a loose tread on his pyjama top.

"I can see him," George spoke for the first time in a long time, voice hoarse from lack of use, "Every time I look in a mirror I see Fred staring back at me."

Harry just sat there, numb. He didn't know what to say to this.

"I keep wanting to end it, because that would be the only way to see him again," George spoke with a steady voice, "I can't help but wonder if the wrong twin died." Choking back a tear, George carried on, voice less steady this time, "But I know that Fred wouldn't want that." His voice broke at the end and he wiped away a tear that was slowly walking down his cheek.

Harry knew exactly how George felt. He felt alone, abandoned by those he loved most, angry that they had left him.

Without letting Harry speak, George continued, "I mean, you know what it's like to be dead, right?" He asked uncertainly, oblivious to the fact Harry was battling an onslaught of memories, flashes of green, his parents voices.

"Y-Yeah," Harry stammered, still fighting with his emotions.

"Was it peaceful? Did you see Fred? Was it nice?" George questioned, eyes still burning holes in his head.

"Yes, it was really peaceful, Fred, well I think Fred would be up there hanging around with the Marauders." Harry whispered, unsure of how George would react.

Surprisingly, a sad smile made its way onto George's face, not quite reaching his eyes but still there. "Yeah, that makes sense."

"Did I ever tell you who the Marauders where?" Harry asked

"No," George replied, confused.

"Well, you met two of them. For starters, Padfoot was our very own Sirius Black." Harry told a shocked George.

"No way." He breathed

"Yes way. And Moony taught you for a year at Hogwarts as the Defence professor in my third year, your fifth," Harry was enjoying the way George gasped in surprise. "Prongs was actually someone so closely related to me that I'm told I look just like him all the time." Harry had forgotten all about his bad mood and was grinning as George opened and closed his mouth several times, gaping like a fish out of water.

"And finally, Wormtail. He was a dirty traitor and doesn't deserve to be called a Marauder ever again. Peter Pettigrew." Harry spat the name with a voice like venom.

"You have to tell me all about them," George breathed, sitting quite literally on the end of his seat. Harry laughed and began telling tales of the Marauders from what Sirius and Remus had told him. This carried on until there was a sound from upstairs. Mrs Weasleys walked down the stairs to find her son sitting with Harry Potter and laughing openly for the first time in days.

Tears brimming in her eyes she rushed over and ensconced George in a tight hug with a whisper of, "I missed you,"


End file.
